Snow Illuminates the Coming Year

I put out my cigarette and walked back and forth in the studio, feeling irritated.

Something was wrong. Everything felt wrong.

If Arson was really the son of Emily and Harry, why didn’t Harry come to take him immediately after her death?

Why let him go alone, following Emily’s last wish to find me, his “enemy”?

It didn’t make sense.

Unless… unless Harry didn’t know either, or he was being kept in the dark too.

I walked over to Arson and crouched down. “What’s in your backpack? Let me see.”

He hesitated for a moment, then obediently took it off.

I unzipped it. Inside, besides a few sketchbooks and a worn Ultraman toy, there was a white pill bottle.

It had no label—like some unregulated product.

“What’s this?”

“Grandma gave me smart pills,” he said softly. “Grandma said I have to take them every day, or I’ll get stupid and Mom won’t like me.”

Grandma?

Linda.

My mind went “buzz.”

A chill ran from my feet straight to the top of my head.

Why would Linda give Emily’s son unknown medicine?

Could it be…

I didn’t dare think any further.

I shoved the pill bottle into my pocket and looked at the boy in front of me. He was so much like Emily, yet carrying Harry’s shadow in his face. My feelings were a tangled mess.

“Tonight, you’ll stay here. And tomorrow, I’ll take you home.”

By “home,” I meant our home.

Arson was obedient to the point of breaking my heart.

When I told him to take a shower, he quietly walked into the bathroom by himself.

A long time passed and I didn’t hear water running. I went to check.

He was standing on his toes, clumsily struggling with the shower that was too high for him.

He didn’t even know how to turn on the hot water.

I sighed and went in to adjust the temperature for him.

As the warm water ran over his thin body, I finally saw it clearly. His arms and back were covered in bruises of all shades.

The bruises looked like they’d been pinched, or maybe hit by something.

New injuries lay on top of old ones.

My hand froze and my chest felt as if a huge stone was pressing down.

“Who did this?”

Arson flinched and hurriedly used his hands to cover the marks, keeping his head down and saying nothing.

“Speak!” My voice grew harsh despite myself.

He shivered at my tone, tears welling in his eyes, but stubbornly refused to let them fall.

“It’s… it’s because I wasn’t good… I made Grandma angry…”

Again… Linda!

That woman always looked elegant and proper in front of me. But behind the scenes, she could do such harm to a child?

Even if Arson wasn’t her biological grandson, he was still Harry’s son.

Even a tiger wouldn’t eat its own cub—how dare she!

I pushed down the anger in my heart, finished giving him a bath and found one of my old T-shirts for him to wear.

The oversized shirt hung over his tiny body, making him look even thinner and more pitiful.

“From now on, don’t ever say you’re bad again.”

I pulled him onto the sofa, took out the first-aid kit and carefully applied ointment to his bruises with a cotton swab.

His body was stiff, completely still as I worked.

“If it hurts, tell me.”

“It doesn’t hurt…” he whispered. “Mom says if she blows on it, it won’t hurt.”

At the mention of Emily, my hand froze.

“She… was good to you?” I asked.

“Mom was the best to me,” Arson’s eyes lit up briefly, then dimmed again. “But Mom was never happy. She would hug me and cry.”